Bard, Lyryk heard the word in her head. We are watched.

We? The last Lyryk knew, she’d been traveling alone. Relieved to have Biscuit back, she kept packing up her camp with only a slight hesitation.

She hadn’t seen the hound, though she felt his presence.

Where? Lyryk directed the thought at Biscuit.

Bushes, sunward.

Deep?

Concealed.

She shot a glance toward the cover and saw rustling. Lyryk hummed a tune, one she knew would expose someone trying to hide from her. As the melody unwound, a soft violet glow illuminated two figures crouched in the brush. She changed the tempo. A new refrain wafted through the air.

She kept humming as she packed. Biscuit appeared by her side, his back hair raised, snarling at the pair in hiding.

“What is it, boy?” she looked toward the brush, knowing what to expect.

One form rose out from the foliage, while the other tried to pull him back down. Biscuit growled at the duo.

“I suggest you come out or you’ll have to contend with my companion, here.”

“We don’t mean nothin’,” said a voice from the brush.

“Really? Do tell.”

“We smelled yer cookin’ and thought to, uh…” he trailed off.

“… share,” the other man stood, quickly finishing his companion’s sentence. “See, we ain’t had much success—”

Biscuit gave a sharp bark.

“Yeah, I smell the horse manure, too, buddy.” Lyryk looked at the bandits. “He says you’re lying.

“Ha!” said the second fellow. “An’ the mongrel talks to ye, do he?”

Biscuit’s hackles stood, and he bared his teeth. He crouched, ears back, teeth bared, and stared straight at the liar. The man backed away.

“Call off yer mutt!”

“By mutual agreement, I don’t own him. If you want him to back down, you’ll have to be nice to him.”

“Be…” the man’s eyes widened as Biscuit stalked in his direction. He turned and disappeared into the forest.

“Now,” said Lyryk, turning to the man she had charmed. “What were you saying? And, I’ll remind you to be truthful.”

“Well, er…” Beads of sweat rolled into his eyes.

“That’s what I thought.” She looked at the dog. “What do you think we should do with him?”

Biscuit turned his golden eyes toward the man. We smell fear and more.

“He says you’re dangerous to us.”

The man stammered something incomprehensible.

The pack ensures only your passage.

Lyryk smiled at that.

“Go,” she told the bandit. “If we sense you again, the forest will answer your folly.”

Low growls sounded from the forest. The man’s eyes widened, and he backed away, turning and sprinting down the same path as his friend.

We go. Biscuit padded toward the trade road, glancing back to make sure she was behind him.

With a sigh, Lyryk shouldered her pack and followed her four-legged companion.